Fall
by Ladra
Summary: Years after the war with Galbatorix, the Riders are thriving under the Command of Arya, the mentor of new dragon Riders. However, a forgotten threat from ages past threatens to disrupt the peace and, with the Riders scattered, the only hope of Alagaesia rests upon the shoulders of a young and inexperienced Rider and his dragon.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have tried, many many times to get into fanfiction, and each time I have failed. I love the idea, and I know I enjoy writing, but every time I think I might be getting into it, something happens. Which sucks. What I'm saying is, don't get your hopes up for anything _too_ wonderful, because technically, I'm a bit of a n00b. **

**Disclaimer: for example, I'm not even sure if you have to put this in every single chapter. Nevertheless, I do not own, nor will I ever own, nor have I in the past owned any part of the Inheritance Cycle, aside from having each of the books and, rather regrettably, the movie :)**

There was an almighty _clang _as the two swords struck one another, the long white blade against the shorter, more lithe, green.

Avery, wielder of the white sword, came of worse, being knocked onto his back foot by the blow, but he recovered quickly, pushing his weight forward toward his opponent.

A momentary impasse, and then his elven adversary spun away again, whipping around and around, then swung the sword again, faster, with more purpose.

Avery parried, then, as the elf swung again, this time at his head, stabbed forward. The elf performed a violent riposte, abandoning her attack and seamlessly, with what seemed like a simple flick of her wrist, feinting, first towards his shoulder, then whirling away, striking Avery on his knee. The blow bruised him, and he fell suddenly, no longer able to support his weight. He felt the warm flow of blood leaking from down his shin. He cried out at the hit, dropping his sword. The elf made another fluid motion, one dripping with finality, bringing the sword down towards his head with a wordless cry. He flinched, but the sword stopped short, not harming him, and as he turned his face towards it he saw it instead hovering an inch above his brow.

The elf offered a hand, which he took. She pulled him to his feet, then sighed.

'Avery-finiarel, you must do better than this' the elf Arya said, with a slight but biting exasperation to her smooth, melodic tones.

'I'm sorry, ebrithil, but swordplay is not, never has been, and I fear will never become my strongest point.' he replied, the words tasting sour in his mouth. He was breathing heavily, exhausted and dehydrated, and in no mood to be spoken down to.

'That' Arya replied 'is unacceptable. You cannot fight simply with the valour of your mind, nor the strength of your magic, nor can Fenna always defend you.' she paused, examining her lower arm, where Avery had managed to score a blow that had drawn blood. It had been a glancing hit, leaving a shallow wound, and had been born out of Avery's frustration that he could not best her. Yet she examined it and, uttering words in the ancient language, the wound closed, stemming the pitiful flow of blood.

'You must learn not only to function independently from her, but also to defend yourself without magic. Battles are not won only on the merit of the mind, Avery-finiarel, you should know this by now. Have not your sessions with others your age taught you this?'

At this, Avery remembered his last sparring session with a young elven Rider named Felda, who had bested him as easily as Arya had, meeting his sword at every twist and turn of the blade.

Avery fumed silently, his anger blotting out Arya's words. He dissected every stab, parry, riposte and attack from their sparring session, willing himself to have found one way, _even just one_, to outperform her. He stayed in this state for several minutes, replaying the earlier battle, for it had been a battle, with Avery forcing Arya to work for the touches and raps she had delivered with her sword. It had been a battle though, of defence for Avery; he could not hope to best his master, nor even to win through luck. At his every movement, his white blade, Zephyr, met with fierce, biting resistance.

'You are dismissed' Arya murmered, pulling Avery from his stupor. 'We can do little else tonight, and you need sleep. Fenna even now returns with Firnen, and we can resume training after your day of rest. I expect you to communicate to her what you have learned today, and the other days we have trained together. Firnen expects the same from her.'

At Arya's words, two shimmering shapes blotted out the last of the sun. One a huge green dragon, whose wingspang was three times that of the smaller dragon who flew alongside him. The smaller shape was this dragon, and one of the purest white, such that her scales appeared as diamonds made from snow and ice and whose eyes, Avery knew without being able to see them, pierced like so many icicles.

_Friend-of-my-heart, _exclaimed the smaller dragon on approaching, even as Firnen landed with a _thud _beside his rider.

_Fenna_ replied Avery, and they enveloped each other in their minds, merging their personalities until they were more one than two.

RTR

As one of the fourteen Riders that existed in Alagaesia, and as one of the seven that were as of yet apprentices and novices in the organisation, Avery and Fenna's training was strict. It began and ended with sparring sessions and airborne battles with Arya and Fenna, with various lessons in magic, history and reading and writing, among over things, from a variety of mentors. He was afforded a single day of rest, as were the others who were taught under Arya, during which they were free to explore their own interests. Avery had taken to flying with Fenna in the morning and evening, between those times simply relaxing in his hut, or in the adjoining dragonhold. He spent many of these days pouring any energy he could spare into the diamond set into the pommel of Zephyr, and after all the time since he had taken up his routine, the amount of energy within was huge.

He woke on this particular day however, with no intention of lazing around. After his sparring session with Arya the previous night, he realised that he needed to improve at all costs. Thus, he sought out the one person who, among all the Riders, elves and humans in and around the small settlement, he knew couldn't best him. His brother, who was younger but had been a rider for a longer time, and had already begun to develop those more pointed ears and angular features afforded to longer time riders. His dragon, Avery knew, was pitch black, and already huge, hulking, strong, and yet swift of wing and wit, known as Ragnar. Avery saw him and the other dragons, Fenna included, set off hunting, which served as some indication as to where his brother might be.

He found his brother, after a short time searching, sharpening his blade, an ordinary steel sword with no jewel set into the pommel nor any enchantments forged into the metal. His brother, Alden, had forgone a proper rider's blade, instead preferring to, in his own words 'give those doomed a fairer fight.' Not that it would have mattered, for anyone unfortunate enough to make an enemy of him would be struck down as easily as a rabbit by a bear, for Alden was one of the greatest swordsmen among the riders. He didn't possess the speed or strength of an elf, but he already had, and consistently did best them in combat, even recently disarming and defeating Arya after a fierce, pitched battle. There had been between them aggressive stalemates, and on Alden's part one bitter loss, but he certainly appeared to have almost eclipsed her skill with a blade.

His hair was shoulder length and dark, on a head protruding from broad shoulders and a barrelled, but somehow lithe chest. His body seemed to epitomise agility and competence, and the way the young rider held himself indicated that he knew it.

Alden glanced up, an expression of disinterest dominating his handsome features, which swiftly transformed into one of glee. When he spoke, his voice was deep, with a pronounced, calculated manner to it. At the same time, his tone was hearty and amiable. 'Brother! I thought you were one of the stable hands. There's one who's been bothering me a lot recently, and I think she might have a fancy for me.' His eyes glinted, and Avery knew that, for all his successes and merits, and for all of his good character, he revelled in the attention.

'Hello, Alden' replied Avery, whose tone immediately communicated how irritated he was to his brother.

'Still can't quite beat her, eh?' Alden said in a tone both sympathetic and amused. Alden knew exactly the level of skill, or lack thereof, with which Avery handled a sword, and had often compared his finesse to that of a butcher cutting the throat of a pig. However, he was wise beyond his years, and understood enough of Avery to know that this wasn't the time for ribbing.

'It's not that I can't quite beat her' Avery said, almost throwing up his hands in annoyance 'It's that she completely obliterates me every single time we spar. What use am I as a rider if I can't defend myself?'

'But you can, Avery. You're easily the most advanced among us when it comes to magic, even Arya admits that. So you can't best an elven swordsman – woman – whose has decades to practise. We both know that you could take apart any lesser human swordsman, and some of the better ones too. Why, I image should you so desire that you could take any single city in Alagaesia, short of Illirea, with the help of Fenna.'

'But I do not desire to.' replied Avery. 'All I wish is to best her once, even if only once and even if it should be a feeble victory.'

Alden shook his head. 'No, brother. You should not think so poorly of yourself. Practise, Avery. That's all there is for it, and I'm sure you will achieve.'

Avery nodded, glum but placated. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Avery examining an area of fraying around his tunic, Alden going back to his sword, before Avery made his excuses and made to leave.

'Avery' said Alden, just as Avery stepped through the door. He paused, and turned back toward his brother.

'Yes?'

'Things will get better. I promise.'

'Yes, Alden.'

RTR

Fenna approached the camp, marvelling at how small the buildings seemed, and how feeble. She was still a young dragon, barely able yet to carry Avery, and they had had but one trip flying together. She could feel him now, even as far away as she was, high above the camp, and could feel that strange sort of disappointment emanating from him. Her heart felt heavy, and she spiralled downwards, eager to try and coax him from his sorrow.

Even with the waves of sadness and self-pity flowing through her, she felt joy at the descent, at feeling the wind in her wings and at seeing the huge expanse of earth, littered and dotted with buildings and people, rushing towards her.

She landed with a light _thud_, almost precisely adjacent to her and Avery's temporary home. The riders, she new, trained at several locations over Alagaesia, with this one being located near the Hadarac desert, on the very cusp of the Great Plains.

Now, she noticed, there was joy exuding from her rider as she approached, and she hadn't moved far before he rushed out to meet her.

_Fenna! _He exclaimed with his mind.

_Little one_ she replied, and they allowed their minds to mold again, all the emotions of her flying trip flowing into him and all the anger and annoyance over the course of the day flowing into her.

_I thought,_ he said, _that we might go flying later. Arya made me a new saddle, one that might be more comfortable for flying for the both of us._

_It shouldn't feel like a swarm of mosquitoes nipping at my back, you mean_

_Yes,_ replied Avery, _that is what I mean. _

_Then, little one, I would like that very much. We will go flying_ She said, and when she did so there was far more finality about it than there had been when Avery had suggested it.

Because, of course, who would, or even could, argue with a dragon?

Avery saddled up Fenna, all the while talking to her and listening as she talked to him, about their respective lessons. Even had their mentors not advised it, they would have done so, as both couldn't think of a finer way to spend their time together. Absorbed as they were in their private interactions, they didn't realise the skies darkening slightly, almost imperceptibly, nor did they notice it as the wind steadily picked up speed. Indeed, these things only became apparent later in the flight, the latter as Fenna began to drift off course and decidedly away from the camp, and the former later, when they were becoming desperately lost and Avery couldn't see farther than the end of his nose.

_Fenna!_ He yelled mentally, as she spun in the air violently for the fourth or fifth time

_we have to land. The wind, it's too much._

_We must get back, _she replied, stubbornness clear in her voice.

Then, before their very eyes, the night, for it had become night-time in their fight to return to camp, was lit up by a huge blast of brutal fire, one that seemed to graze the very stars themselves. There could be nothing seen other than this burst of fire, and almost as soon as he looked at it Avery found himself blinded by its intensity. There came more burst of fire, and deafening thunderclaps of noise, and as Avery assimilated to the former the source of the fire became clearer, and although it was distanct, almost a league from him, his keen eyes quickly ascertained the cause of the fire; the jagged, bloody maw of some nightmare creature, whose skin was the darkest black and whose jaws seemed to open wide enough as to swallow Fenna whole. The creature was huge, though shrouded by the night, with vast, leathery wings that, when extended, for the creature extended them twice over the course of the fiery bombardment, seemed to encompass the entire horizon.

The fire stopped after a short while, and all was dark and quiet. The only sound audible was that of a slight _thud, thud, thud _that Avery knew was the sound of a dragons wings.

Eventually, even that noise faded, as did the wind, and Fenna found herself able to land, and land she did, for she had been trembling with fear. She chided herself; she was not a hatchling, but even so, she had been scared. Avery had been too, the creature having had evoked in him some sort of primal fear that he knew Fenna too would understand.

He gathered wood for a fire that Fenna lit for him, and as they sat in silence, stomachs rumbling, for they hadn't any food, a horrible realisation occurred to him.

_Fenna_ he said.

_Yes, Avery_

_That thing, that creature, was a dragon_

_Yes, little one, though it was unlike any I have ever seen or heard of._

_And you are a dragon._

_Well met, little one, though I hope you are not only now noticing._

_Would you have done that, breath fire in such an audacious fashion-_

_I cannot breath fire._

_Yes, yes, I know, but if you could, would you do so for no reason._

_No, Avery. Where would be the gain? I would do so when hunting, or intimidating, or to destroy my enemies._

_Exactly. What enemy inspired that dragon to put on such a display?_

_One that would have been strong, at least to a degree. You noticed the many burst of fire, not just the one._

_So, _Avery said, already feeling himself filling with dread _a powerful, numerous group of enemies that couldn't be intimidated or dealt with immediately with fire. Do you know of anything such as that on these plains?_

_I do not._

_Then what could said dragon have been attacking._

_Only- _Fenna stopped suddenly, and Avery felt the realisation occurring. Then _Avery! The camp!_

_I know. I though so. That dragon was not one of ours._

_You are calm? We must do something!_

_It's a pitch black night. There are no stars, no moon, and somewhere out there is a momentously large dragon that, if we are correct, saw fit to attack an entire camp of dragons and their riders. What could we possibly do?_

Fenna begrudgingly agreed _It feels wrong._

_I know_ replied Avery _but we must stay here until morning. To set out would mean death for us both, especially if we begin blundering about like mad people in the pitch black._

_So we wait, with no way of knowing if any of them survived?_

_If they did, then our haste is not necessary. If they didn't, our haste will not help. We wait._

_We wait, little one._

RTR

The rider of the huge black dragon, clad in armour forged in the same manner as his riders sword, a long, dark thorn of a blade held high above his head, thought there was something of a wonderful irony in burning the feeble buildings that fell before him, either orange with still living flames or black with the signs of dead ones.

He had encountered yet only resistance from mere men, mortals who, even had he just been a rider, would not have posed a threat. However, he could see approaching a emerald dragon almost half the size of his dragon, and paused. The dragon and it's rider were unlikely to pose a threat, but even so, they could be a risk. He barked a spell, one that immobilised the wings of the creature and that was worded such that it would bypass the wards the creature would undoubtedly have , the energy for which he drew from the single eldurnari in the saddle bag behind him. The creature roared in shock, then began spiralling towards the ground. He waited, sword in hand, while they, the rider and dragon fell, landing only meters away from him. He jumped from his dragon, stepping to the side as his dragon bought forth a fountain of fire.

The screams of the dragon and elven rider served as music to his ears, and when the fire stopped, on his command, he examined the two. The elven rider, whose wards he knew had given way halfway through the torrent, had had her hair burnt down to her scorched scalp. Her clothes too had burnt, revealing further burns across her body. The dragon too had been harmed by the burns, but less so, with his one eye that had been directly exposed to the flames having seemingly melted in its socket. The rider grinned, enjoying the moment of having both the elf and the dragon at his mercy. Then, with a single, swift motion, he stepped forward and thrust his sword through the chest of the elf.

She screamed, a note high and pure, despite the smoke that must have been choking her lungs. The dragon screamed too, a noise filled with hate and pain and loss. Recovering, or appearing to, quickly, it leapt upon the rider, claws and jaws ripping at his skin. He was warded, so he sustained no wounds, but he was thrown to the ground. His dragon joined the fray, grasping with his jaws the left back leg of the smaller dragon, ripping it from the rest of the body. Again the dragon screamed, this time though only with pain. It spread its wings, grasping in its claws the limp body of its rider, then shot into the sky.

Thirteen dragons had, by this point appeared, clad fully in armour with riders on their backs. They were half the size again of the elf's dragon, some even smaller, and the rider smiled. They wouldn't pose a threat to him at all, but still he would kill them. He leapt astride his dragon again, who responded with a torrent of fire.

It was not the first burst of flames, nor would it be the last, thought the rider, smiling to himself again, revealing teeth that had been filed to points.  
The elf, who was also a rider, who was also a shade, fortified by the strength of his dragon and of his stolen eldurnari, riding on a creature that in size far exceeded anything that had been seen since Galbatorix's dragon Shruikan, spurred his mount into the sky again, and in the pitch black of the night, in the absence of the fire or the light of the moon, would, he thought, make short work of those who would oppose him.

**So. Yeah. Hmm. What did you think? Reviews will be greatly appreciated, and it only takes a second to make my day? My main gripe is character names, I'm awful at those, so tell me what you thought of them. Interestingly, three of the characters, and indeed some of the most prominent in this chapter, begin with 'A's (Arya, Alden, Avery). That said, you don't have to pretend to be interested.**

**So, to be clear: reviews = happy me. happy me = more chapters. more chapters (hopefully) = happy readers. happy readers = reviews. I really hope you can see where this is going.**

**I remain, **

**Ladra (and only because people had taken La Gazza Ladra and LaGazzaLadra. B*sterds.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi there! How are you, dear reader, on this fine day? Me, I'm wonderful, as I have my first review (special thanks to Elemental Dragon Slayer, on being the first) and as such, I thought I'd set a few things straight. This story takes place after the end of Inheritance, decades on, and Eragon hasn't been seen or heard of for decades. Arya, until recently, led the riders, creating the furtive organisation that exists, or existed (until recently) and consisted of only fourteen dragons and riders, not including Arya herself.**

**So, by virtue of the (slightly, and hopefully) cliffhanger ending of chapter 1 (should I give the chapters titles? Anyone?) I'll, without further ado, get straight to it.**

**Disclaimer: since chapter 1, I have yet to come into ownership of any off the rights to do anything even remotely related to the inheritance cycle. So meh.**

Morning had come, and with such a brutal, stark suddenness when compared to that which had been the grim, moody weather of the night before.

The light of the sun, which crept slowly over the horizon, before abruptly jumping through the clouds, woke Avery and Fenna, so closely joined were they that when one woke, so did the other. With his waking, so did Avery remember the horror that had been their last night.

The dragon attack, for Fenna had been certain that it was a dragon (_It is as much a dragon as I am, Avery, and big enough to swallow me whole_) notwithstanding, the rain that had started not long after they had started their fire threatened to extinguish it almost as quickly as it had been cast into life (Brisingr, Avery had grunted) and the ice cold, razor sharp gusts of wind had battered them throughout the night. The howl of wolves in the early hours of the morning had woken them in time to see slinking, insubstantial shadows with golden eyes circling their dying fire.

He slowly became aware of their predicament, which in the brief, if uneasy respite of sleep had faded amongst his dreams of fame, fortune, that which he would never reveal except to Fenna, and even then begrudgingly. He tried to stand, not frantic, nor fast, but even so found himself weak at the knees, and he stumbled. Even picturing the maw of the dragon, feeling the heat of the flames even from so far away, hearing the sound of its voice, its horrific, tortured howl of hatred and having it split his skull like the pounding of drums.

'Fenna' he said out loud, not trusting himself to open his mind without falling into that same paralysing fear that he had felt in the pitch blackness of the night. 'Fenna, we have to do something.'

She had managed to stand without stumbling or tripping, and he felt his cheeks flush at his weakness. He noted however, that as much as it was possible for a dragon to look nervous, Fenna looked terrified, as if in the light of day, far from driving away those demons that had caused them both such fear, those same monsters had become clear and defined, and so much the more horrifying because of it.

_I agree. If we do nothing, others will die that we might have helped. If we act, however, we might save lives, even though we might finish ourselves._

He nodded in agreement, then said _Even so, we should check the camp first, to ensure that there is not something we missed. Perhaps, if we are lucky, this was a training scenario we missed. That easily could have been Ragnar and Alden. _He, even as he said it, didn't believe it. Ragnar, his brother's dragon, would have been dwarfed by that dragon just as dwarves themselves are by Kull.

_Possibly. But, assuming it isn't, and I'm sorry Fenna, but I really doubt your theory, we must check for survivors._

_Aye _Avery replied shortly.

RTR

Alden hated himself, and his actions during last nights _massacre_. For it had been a massacre. The huge, coal coloured dragon had slaughtered everyone in the camp. The corpses of dragons resembled huge, twisted jewels of every single colour, blood drying on their surfaces. The riders were so much the more forlorn, all 12 of them dead. Tooth marks, huge rends from massive claws, and scorch and burn marks, most of which weren't inflicted as killing blows, but as sadistic, drawn out instruments of pain. The majority of the riders and dragons had been struck down by attacks that had somehow managed to circumvent all of their wards, killing seamlessly, effortlessly, and indiscriminatingly. Alden thought the sight of it all was one of the saddest things he had ever seen. Ragnar, silent and pensieve, communicated only through an intense, world eating hatred, and what could only be likened to a lust for vengeance, even when describing it thus does it not justice.

And that shame of Alden, the reason he had survived, he knew would haunt him for the rest of his living days. He had fled, he and Ragnar, as soon as Arya had been bought down. Though he had not seen a body, Alden had no doubt that the elven beauty was dead, for none could have stood against the mountain that had attacked. He felt within him a sense of loss that, he knew, could only have been overtaken by the deaths of Avery or Ragnar.

He had fled the scene, but he'd had good reason. The riders were dead, and had he stayed he too would have been killed. He had even seen, in his flight, that nearer the end of that brutal and swift battle, other riders had tried to flee, only to be snatched out of the sky like a robin by an eagle. Even so, he felt such pain to have had done so, his efforts to become the best weighing heavily upon him, in lieu of his failure. And there could only be one redemption, both he and Ragnar knew: death, or savior. They could die, facing the enemy down the point of a sword and a pillar of fire. Or, they could destroy the beast, and its rider. Either way, he reasoned, they must eventually face their foe, or flee like a coward.

_There is_, said Ragnar, in his gravelly mental tones, _another way. Perchance, have you heard of the rider Eragon Shadeslayer._

_We suffered through the same tuition, Ragnar. Why do you mention him?_

Their relationship, while close, was noticably more tense than that of other dragons and riders, though their bond was no less strong. They constantly pushed each other to be better, through taunts and encouragement, and Alden had often thought that Ragnar was more his brother than Avery.

_He lives, across the ocean in a different land, with a dragon older than Firnen. Not much larger, but larger, certainly. And he has had decades to himself, studying, learning, training. Imagine, what he could do against a beast. He has such strength, to have defeated Galbatorix and that forsaken Shade for which he was known, at the age he was. He is bigger than all of us, and from the stories I imagine he could destroy even you if it came to a crossing of blades._

Alden bristled, knowing the truth of that last statement. The tales praised Eragon for having been an exceptional swordsman, even among the Elves, and with so many years without distraction, he must have learnt much.

_We know not where he resides._

_No,_ replied Ragnar, _but we must find him. Across the ocean we must fly, for there is no other choice. I will not die pointlessly, for we know not whether your brother survived the attack. We might, for all of our ability, be the last dragons aside from Eragon and Saphira and that monster in existance. We should not squander our gift, Alden._

Alden recognised how much Ragnar was already committed to his idea. They were standing over the body of a beautiful Elven girl one year younger than Alden, and her one-year-older-than-Ragnar dragon, of the most beautiful blue. The dragon had been Ragnar's mate, and Alden had noticed the girl the first day she had appeared in camp. They had become close friends, and Alden had considered courting her. Now...she and her dragon lay in the dirt, the former with her neck twisted completely around, the latter having had an entire wing torn lose by the mighty jaws of that _monster_.

'We must.' Alden said quietly. Then, with more certainty: 'Yes. We shall fly across the sea, and we shall, on my word as a rider and by the blood in my veins, and our mothers and fathers, not stop nor rest until we have found who we seek: Eragon Shadeslayer, the last hope for use, and the dragon riders. We will not rest until we, our our enemies, lay dead on the ground.'

Ragnar roared in agreement, scorching the clouds with an immense burst of fire. Avery knelt and, cutting his palm with his dagger, murmured his oath again in the ancient language and slurring his words, for his eyes had begun to leak. He planted the dagger in the ground beside the girl, gently closing her still open, very much dead, empty eyes. He stood. He turned.

Then both he and Ragnar began to walk towards the centre of the camp, both already planning the journey ahead.

RTR

The Shade admired the victory he had gained, but fumed at that which he had lost: the green dragon, that which that feeble elf had riden, had escaped. Granted, he had utterly destroyed every other rider in Alagaesia, and indeed that selfsame dragon's rider, he was certain, but that dragon had almost been half the size of his dragon and, if only by logic alone, posed a threat. There had been less riders in the camp than he'd expected, as his intelligence told him fourteen eggs had existed in Alagaesia. Nonetheless, he feared not, for without a rider, the green dragon could not stand against him, and might even already be dead.

As a Shade, and as one whose dragon wanted nothing more than to burn _everything_ he realised his aims as blindingly simple. He too wanted to burn everything, to reduce the entirety of Alagaesia to ashes, to take every single life that existed and destroy it. He wanted nothing more, and nothing less, than to sterilise the land entirely, as if life were a disease. And he would do so. He swore he would do so.

RTR

Firnen, flying low over those young trees that make up the fringes of Du Weldenvarden, remembered with no small amount of pain and remorse those hours following the attack on the rider's camp

Arya! _He had cried with his mind. _Arya, please, awake. Allow me to heal you.

_She had stirred, and said _No, Firnen. You must not, and cannot. Instead, please allow me to ask two things of you. You must... _She drifted away from him again, even in his head, and he felt astonishingly empty for a moment, and filled with fear _No! Arya, come back to me!

You must..._she said..._you must survive this, Firnen, and find those that survived. You must survive losing me, please. And you must...allow me to heal you. It will b the last of my strength andyou cannot... stop me... but I would prefer... your blessing. _He had wrestled then, with himself, considering denying both requests, and instead healing his rider with the last of the strength of his bones and heart even as she had offered the same. But...no. He couldn't. He didn't know how he might heal her, as he couldn't perform magic on command._

I will allow it _he grunted once, so short was he that Arya, in her near stupor, barely noticed. She did, however, sense his approval, and on her silent command, the magic began to flow. He felt the wound of his leg close, then felt the pain reduce, though a dull throbbing still existed. He felt his other injuries heal and slowly, slowly, he began to feel better. He felt so alive, so much energy was coursing though him, oh, so alive, so..._

No! No, no, no! Arya! _He cried out with his mind, for hers had dimmed briefly, then flared up again _I love you, Firnen _she had said._

_Then, in an instant, without even a goodbye, a reply, or the opportunity for her to remove herself from his mind, she was gone._

_Gone. Gone gone gone forever._

_And he felt so...empty. So quiet, like the world itself had disappeared in some baptism of fire and been reduced to he too, fell into himself, fell silent, though he sank not into the embrace of death. He fell within his mind, behind defences so strong that a thousand men couldn't penetrate them. He didn't notice the ground rapidly approaching as he had stopped his conscious effort to fly. He didn't notice anything of the world outside his mind, for he had forsaken it. It was such that he didn't notice the body of his rider slip from between his claws. He fell to earth, so engrossed in that tiny corner of his mind that he felt no pain as he ploughed into the trees._

_His entire world existed as the four walls to his mental fortress, completely impregnable. He retreated there, where no one could see. And there, his soul, his very being, began to cry._

**Aww, poor little (rather huge) dragon. Do you feel sorry for him. I know, on some level, he'd probably be upset if you didn't review, you heartless monsters. Tell me what you think.**

**I remain, **

**Ladra.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome back to my fanfic. Two chapters in as many days, I'm not sure if that's impressive or not. Do tell me if it is, I like to know when I'm being exceptional. In that same vein, please leave a review if you liked the previous chapters, or if you like this one. I only have one at the time of writing, and it's lonely. **

**To be honest, not a lot of action this chapter, but it's coming, especially when Ragnar and Alden reach Eragon and Saphira. I do apologise for that, but I'll be working up to some serious action later on.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still nothing. Yet (mwahaha) **

Avery and Fenna landed at the camp, with an impact heavier than they might have liked, on account of Fenna having weakened at the sight of the dead around her. The landing jarred Avery's bones, and he almost fell from her back onto the bloodstained dirt below.

The first thing they had seen, even from far away and high in the sky, had been the long, black scorch marks that scarred the plains, having burnt everyhting in their path completely to the ground. Still a few lingering flames existed, but were dying. As they got closer, they noticed the bodies of dragons, and as they became closer still, those of humans. The sigh sickened them both, and neither spoke during the descent.

On landing, Avery gingerly half-jumped half-fell from Fenna's saddle, and threw up, for both the smell of blood and the sight of it had turned his stomach. The distressed motion of Fenna's wings as they had approached had done little to change that, making his sickness ever worse.

They still remained wordless, so shocked were they by the sight before them. The camp, which had seemed both so large and so strong before their ill-fated flight, was now in tatters, and had never seemed smaller. Every singe tent had been ablaze, and those few more permanent lodgings also bore marks of fire damage, alongside huge, sweeping gouges that Fenna recognised as claw marks.

The very land seemed wounded, even dead, even as Fenna and Avery felt the same. They saw the bodies, but didn't consciously try and identify them, though they recognised the faces, when there was indeed anything left to see. It transpired then, that when they reached the centre of camp, and stood in the footprints of those who had been before them, Alden and Ragnar, they almost didn't notice the dagger that was protruding from the sand.

_Avery, look. I recognise that dagger as your brothers._

Avery glanced up from the boot of one of his fellow riders that, inexplicably, still had the foot inside. Nothing else of the body was anywhere to be found, and indeed Avery had only recognised who the foot belonged to on account of the owners near obsessive cleaning of the boot buckle. He nearly threw up again, and was bent double when Fenna got his attention.

_I do believe you're right, Fenna. How strange. _

_Not so, Avery. We didn't notice these footprints, of which one pair at least is Ragnar's._

_They've been here, then. _Avery concluded. _So?_

_They're alive. Look at these footprints, it is quite clear that they belong to those walking as we have been, that is to say slowly. If these footprints had been from during the attack, would they not have been more frantic?_

Avery considered, and despite his lack of aptitude for tracking, he reasoned that it made sense.

_Their bodies aren't here either, _he said, _and how would we, even if Alden had been buried beneath one of these tents, have missed Ragnar? He was, ahem _is_, huge._

_We don't know for sure, Avery, but the footprints suggest-_

_They're alive! _Avery cried, and fell to his knees. _That's his dagger, Fenna, you're correct. But why did he leave it here?_

_I do not know, little one. You humans are beyond me at times._

Though he still felt grief, grief so strong that even as he cried out with happiness threatened to topple him, at the same time he felt such joy that anyone, best of all his brother, had survived the attack. Although, there was still the one question.

_Fenna, where is he?_

_I do not know._

_Why...why did he leave?_

RTR

There exists, at the very centre of the Hadarac desert, equidistant from each capital of each race, a fortress. Created by an amalgamation of workmen from every race involved in the pact to become dragon riders. Inside, placed there by Arya and Firnen, there existed several things. The first was a gem the size of Alden's head, of the green of leaves and grass and of the very essence of green things, that was Firnen's eldurnari. It had been placed their should any rider need help, or knowledge, in a time of great need. The second item was in fact a collection of items, or rather swords. Rider's swords in every colour and shade and length, for every fighting style developed by every single race. The third item was a saddle, designed so that it could be adjusted for all but the very largest of dragons. And the fourth was a ring, within it set a diamond, and within that there existed a pool of energy large enough to move a mountain.

It was before these items that Alden now stood, having already chosen a sword, one of the darkest black, like coal or smoke or the night sky, that was the same length as his previous sword, that which had been unenchanted and unremarkable. Or, people had said it was unremarkable, but to Alden, it had been as an old friend, and he had loathed to give it up. But he knew, with all the strength of this rider and dragon that had levelled the camp, and that could attack at any time, that he had needed a rider's sword at long last.

He had taken the ring too, and had been shocked and in awe by the amount of energy inside it.

_I could turn this castle into sand, or diamond_ he had thought.

He proceeded to take the saddle too, fitting it to Ragnar who, on account of the fort having been built with dragons and riders in mind, had managed to access the same room. He already had a saddle, and one that looked to be more comfortable to them both than the one he was fitting, but by unspoken consent they had agreed. Anything, they had both thought, to avoid touching the eldurnari.

Having seen Arya struck down, and knowing as they did about that shared bond, they knew the grief of the great green dragon would be insurmountable so soon after the death of his rider. They dare not touch it, for fear of being overwhelmed by that vast, powerful consciousness. Even after the saddle had been fitted, and Alden had donned gloves so as to avoid directly touching the gem, and allocating space in a saddle bag in which to carry it, Alden found himself unable to move. The idea of holding another's being in his hands, especially one as powerful as a dragon's, repulsed and terrified him. He noticed not the light falling outside, as the afternoon became evening. He eventually, as nudges from Ragnar, stepped forward, and grasped the Eldurnari with both hands.

He gasped, for it was cold even through the gloves, and his sheer closeness to it meant the sadness of the dragon emanated towards him, pervading deep inside his mind. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, and heard the low, keening growl of Ragnar that proved he too felt the same sorrow. He stumbled and staggered toward the saddle bag, nearly bucking under the weight of the dragon's mind that, having realised his presence, began anew its lamentations.

He finally managed to push it deep into the bag, covering it with cloth, and the force of will that was Firnen vanished suddenly, and even as he might had Ragnar died or gone far away, he felt a overpowering loneliness.

He felt, for a moment, like he was the only thing left in the entire world.

Ragnar too felt as such, but before Alden, recovered. He growled, drawing Alden back to his senses.

_We should go, Alden_ he said.

_Yes, of course. I shall waste no more time. We have food and water enough for our journey?_

_However long it may be, we are well equipped. _

_Then let us off _replied Alden, more bright and brazenly than he felt.

_We shall not delay, nor falter. We set out towards lands distant, out across the oceans blue._

He climbed atop Ragnar, fitting himself to the saddle. Ragner thudded towards the vast window through which he had flown in, and let out a bone-shattering roar as he lept into the sky.

RTR

The Shade, who stood stock still, all in black from the hood of his cloak to the leather of his shoes. While sunlight didn't harm him, he preferred to shield himself from it, as a more pallid, sallow complexion would only serve to inspire fear in his enemies. He had no doubts that, alongside his sharpened teeth and blood covered hands and nails, that he might be mistaken for human, but he didn't need to stay hidden away. Should the entire army have mobilised against him, they might have been able to do him harm, maybe even kill him if they were co-ordinated enough, but the Shade knew that this would never happen. Humans in general were weak alone, and almost never effectively worked together. This the Shade knew, and it was this knowledge that meant he had nothing to fear from being seen. Thus, he had not adopted the guise of ordinary traveller that others might had they been seeking to harm with impunity, for he could do so with no disguise, for none he targeted would escape with their lives and, if they should, no-one could harm him. He had reached the edge of the great plains, and turning towards them, he saw nothing but the heat haze caused by the intense sunlight on the horizon. Scanning further, he could just make out the smouldering remains of the camp that he had seen fit to destroy, but no detail could be seen aside from the steadily rising pillar of black, thick smoke. It would, he didn't doubt, attract attention. There would be envoys sent from every town or city within sight of the sky-scraping smog, but by the time anyone arrived, he would be gone. He almost considered staying, and dispatching of the envoys as they arrived, but decided against it. He would travel, he thought, to Surda, outside of the influence of that High Queen Nasuada. She had been personally involved with the elf-rider of the green dragon, and she would undoubtedly stop at nothing to bring him to justice. She was an old woman now, the Shade knew, but he imagined her fire, the same that had inspired her to lead the Varden against the Empire of old, could pose if not a threat then at the least a nuisance.

His dragon though, was hunting, for the attack on the camp, while not time consuming or difficult, had left her hungry, and had, she had told him, be gone for several days. She revelled in the hunt, in the ripping and tearing of smaller things into yet smaller, bloodied and in her opinion delicious pieces. As such, he was left waiting, until early afternoon.

The light had begun to fall back down beneath the clouds, and indeed behind the hills in the most distant edges of his view. The land seemed to go on forever, bathed in a pinkish light, long shadows thrown by the dying sun. Even so, the beauty held no sway over him, even as that of the elf-rider hadn't. He knew both would have enthralled any mortal man and perchance most elves, and the latter would have had an effect on all people, from the dwarves to the humans to the elves. He however, had long considered himself immune to beauty.

He turned away from the sunset, feeling pain in his joints, for he had been standing for hours and still possessed the body of an elf, prone to injury as much as any other, and saw, cast in his own shadow, the most stunning flower. A lily of so many different tones of gold, quite literally gilded, as if it had been cast by dwarves into metal, and then sung into life by the elves. For he knew, reaching out with his mind, that it was alive, that feeble, but oh so precious light of life flickering inside the flower. And for a moment he found himself unable to move, or even to think anything outside of admiring the flower. He stood this way for 10 minutes, while the sun fell completely below the horizon, leaving only the slightest hint of light.. The pain in his joints had become an ache, but he seemed to himself to be separate from his body, almost gazing at the glimmering lily from beyond himself. Then, the last light from the sun disappeared even as the sun itself had, and whatever spell the lily had cast over him vanished, that awe and admiration and happiness being replaced with rage, and hate, and...

He swore an oath, and the lily burst into flames. Despite its golden surface, it burned and burned, for the flames were magical, and would never go out, until...

The lily exploded, firing shards of molten gold in all directions. One cut across the Shade's face, drawing both blood from his body and a snarl from his mouth. Then, with magic, he threw each an every shard a mile away from him, then knelt in the dirt where it had been. He was panting heavily, not because the magic had cost him much energy, for it had been the same to him as having lifted a finger, but because of that other emotion he had felt upon seeing the flower, and that same emotion he'd felt upon destroying it, and that he now couldn't help _but_ feel.

He felt vulnerable, like at any moment he might meet his end, or worse, find something else that bewitched him as that gilded lily had. He felt control slipping away from him, and was overtaken by fear. He watched, as from kneeling he fell face forward towards the ground, unable to move to stop himself. He yelled out, and hit the ground, recovering quickly and standing, but swaying on his feet.

He felt sick, and weak, like he was dying. He was completely powerless, and in those few moments of fear and weakness, any creature, with the intent or ability, could have struck him down. And again, he stood, nearly buckling and falling again and again, for what felt like hours. And it was for hours, because he only felt himself recovering as the first few rays of sunlight crept over the horizon in front of him.

He couldn't bear to look.

**A/N: So, chapter three down, and so far, so bad for our heroes, and even for our villain, really. So, feel free to review, or move on with your life. Remember the fic though, come back again when there are more chapters, because there is more to come, if you want.**

**I remain,**

**Ladra**


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